In which Trina thinks about music and communal singing and joins a chorus:
I read about a study some researchers in Sweden made this year about
singing. It makes sense that people singing together would breathe
together. Breath is a big part of the physicality of singing, after
all. But the study showed that the singers' heartbeats synchronized,
too. It sounds like something out of a romance novel -- their hearts
beat as one, or some such sentimental rubbish -- which is probably why I
smiled like an idiot when I read the article.
I have always found singing soothing. I was never fond of solo work; I get crippling stage fright, but I did it because I wanted to show off. I really, really don't like it. Making music as part of a group, on the other hand, is a delight. It still satisfies my need to show off if the group is good, because if it's good, and I'm in it, then I'm good, right? Right. And the showing-off aspect isn't even what I like best about the whole thing. Every rehearsal feels like an accomplishment. I make progress in learning the music and blending in with the other singers, and I love to contribute my bit to a whole that really is beautiful and worthwhile. While in Melbourne about ten years ago, Glenn Frey mentioned how he loves singing with other people, and I knew exactly what he was talking about.
I mentioned earlier this month that I auditioned for and got accepted into a small women's chorus that rehearses near the law school. (I will call it LWC, for Local Women's Chorus, hereafter.) My voice has deteriorated a little thanks to GERD, so I wasn't sure if my singing would be good enough. I haven't needed to practice sight reading in years, either. But when I got there, Conductor E seemed very happy with my audition. (I didn't BS my way through any of it, I swear! I was shocked that I sight read as well as I did. Thanks, Mrs. Ekedal, for making sure all your choral students left each school year knowing how to read and transcribe music!) Conductor E still had about twenty other women to see that night and a week later, and all of them could have been loads better than me, so despite her enthusiasm, I didn't expect to get in. I wasn't surprised, however, when I got an acceptance e-mail the next week. Thrilled, excited, enthusiastic, and chuffed to bits, yes, but not surprised!
This is a much higher caliber of chorus than any other I've been in before. (No offense to the Young Americans, Millennial Arts Association, or the Southern California Mormon Choir.) We've started on two pieces in Latin: Porpora's Magnificat, which is the Annunciation story, and Rheinberger's Messe in A, Opus 126. We'll sing both for Christmas. I sang Latin once before when I was a nun in The Sound of Music, so I know how to handle the vowels, and I've studied both French and Spanish, but I don't feel entirely at ease yet as I read these two incredible scores. The music itself is tough, too! Long runs of notes, trills (I can almost hear my first voice teacher cackling at me from heaven), staggered breathing, and fugue-y bits in three and four parts ... this is quite a change of pace for someone who hasn't been challenged musically since 1990.
So yes, for the first time in my life, I have to practice between rehearsals. It always stuck with me before, and I'd practice because I was asked to, but I never needed to. From Wednesday to Monday, I listen to the pieces we're working on (I bought them from iTunes) and read the music. I'm not entirely over my cold yet, so I just listen most times, but I've sung along, too. Or I speak the words in rhythm, which will get me used to the vowels and consonants as well as the timing. And at least three times a week, I clear the cat dishes away from the floor in front of the keyboard and slowly plunk out the notes. It's got to the point that the music is a constant buzz in my mind: when I wake, as I fall asleep, and of course as I'm writing this! That hasn't happened since I was in Into the Woods three years ago.
Google Translate has done its bit, too. I can glean a few concepts from the Latin, but I don't understand most of it, so I have entered it into the Translate web page and written the English words into the score. I need to know what I'm saying. Putting emotion into each piece will make my performance better, even for audience members who don't know what the text means.
So that's me at the moment. If my life is a glass jar, each of these things is a big stone: work, sleep (usually not enough), family, Bubba the Hutt, LWC rehearsals, my health, and physical fitness. Other things like social media, books, other hobbies, and housework are pebbles, and music is the sand that trickles into all the gaps in between. I find I have less time for the pebbles as a result, but I'm okay with this. I feel less isolated when I'm a part of something like this ... when I have something beautiful to which I can contribute. Something I can't do alone. And they need me. Or at least, they want me!
I have always found singing soothing. I was never fond of solo work; I get crippling stage fright, but I did it because I wanted to show off. I really, really don't like it. Making music as part of a group, on the other hand, is a delight. It still satisfies my need to show off if the group is good, because if it's good, and I'm in it, then I'm good, right? Right. And the showing-off aspect isn't even what I like best about the whole thing. Every rehearsal feels like an accomplishment. I make progress in learning the music and blending in with the other singers, and I love to contribute my bit to a whole that really is beautiful and worthwhile. While in Melbourne about ten years ago, Glenn Frey mentioned how he loves singing with other people, and I knew exactly what he was talking about.
I mentioned earlier this month that I auditioned for and got accepted into a small women's chorus that rehearses near the law school. (I will call it LWC, for Local Women's Chorus, hereafter.) My voice has deteriorated a little thanks to GERD, so I wasn't sure if my singing would be good enough. I haven't needed to practice sight reading in years, either. But when I got there, Conductor E seemed very happy with my audition. (I didn't BS my way through any of it, I swear! I was shocked that I sight read as well as I did. Thanks, Mrs. Ekedal, for making sure all your choral students left each school year knowing how to read and transcribe music!) Conductor E still had about twenty other women to see that night and a week later, and all of them could have been loads better than me, so despite her enthusiasm, I didn't expect to get in. I wasn't surprised, however, when I got an acceptance e-mail the next week. Thrilled, excited, enthusiastic, and chuffed to bits, yes, but not surprised!
This is a much higher caliber of chorus than any other I've been in before. (No offense to the Young Americans, Millennial Arts Association, or the Southern California Mormon Choir.) We've started on two pieces in Latin: Porpora's Magnificat, which is the Annunciation story, and Rheinberger's Messe in A, Opus 126. We'll sing both for Christmas. I sang Latin once before when I was a nun in The Sound of Music, so I know how to handle the vowels, and I've studied both French and Spanish, but I don't feel entirely at ease yet as I read these two incredible scores. The music itself is tough, too! Long runs of notes, trills (I can almost hear my first voice teacher cackling at me from heaven), staggered breathing, and fugue-y bits in three and four parts ... this is quite a change of pace for someone who hasn't been challenged musically since 1990.
So yes, for the first time in my life, I have to practice between rehearsals. It always stuck with me before, and I'd practice because I was asked to, but I never needed to. From Wednesday to Monday, I listen to the pieces we're working on (I bought them from iTunes) and read the music. I'm not entirely over my cold yet, so I just listen most times, but I've sung along, too. Or I speak the words in rhythm, which will get me used to the vowels and consonants as well as the timing. And at least three times a week, I clear the cat dishes away from the floor in front of the keyboard and slowly plunk out the notes. It's got to the point that the music is a constant buzz in my mind: when I wake, as I fall asleep, and of course as I'm writing this! That hasn't happened since I was in Into the Woods three years ago.
Google Translate has done its bit, too. I can glean a few concepts from the Latin, but I don't understand most of it, so I have entered it into the Translate web page and written the English words into the score. I need to know what I'm saying. Putting emotion into each piece will make my performance better, even for audience members who don't know what the text means.
So that's me at the moment. If my life is a glass jar, each of these things is a big stone: work, sleep (usually not enough), family, Bubba the Hutt, LWC rehearsals, my health, and physical fitness. Other things like social media, books, other hobbies, and housework are pebbles, and music is the sand that trickles into all the gaps in between. I find I have less time for the pebbles as a result, but I'm okay with this. I feel less isolated when I'm a part of something like this ... when I have something beautiful to which I can contribute. Something I can't do alone. And they need me. Or at least, they want me!
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